Performative
by wiratomkinder
Summary: Maria is a walking, talking identity crisis. James is her audience of one. (Short fic exploring Maria's experiences in the main game.)


Maria lowers the gun from her head. When she throws it, it disappears in the fog before it even passes over the fence. She doesn't hear it land on the other side.

As she walks, the fog swirls about her feet. Thankfully, this stretch of road is bereft of monstrosities.

 _Is it?_

She pauses and stares at a huddled form in the distance. Her grip on the gun tightens as she approaches.

It's monstrous, but it makes no move against her. A pale body is half-in, half-out of a manhole. Odd symbols are carved into its shoulders. Its hands tap the pavement as if out of impatience as its faceless head twitches erratically. As Maria stares, it rolls its shoulders and gestures for her to come closer.

It doesn't speak, but Maria understands.

 _Careful now_ , it tells her. _You're out of the chrysalis and into the fire_.

"I don't think that's the saying," she replies.

 _So says the caterpillar_. It grabs the manhole cover and drags it towards itself, the resulting screech hurting Maria's ears.

She tries to shout over the clamor. "Where's James?"

The cover slides into place and the figure slips out of sight. _Wherever Mary isn't_.

* * *

Maria comes across an arcade near Rosewater Park. It's abandoned and decrepit looking, of course. Someone had broken the handle off of the front door, and an unidentifiable corpse now props it open. She can hear frenzied tapping and music from within.

She leans through the doorway and searches the gloom. At the far end of the building, she sees a man sitting at a brightly lit pachinko machine. He's huddled over the controls, making grunts of frustration. There's blond hair beneath a backwards baseball cap.

Maria realizes that she doesn't actually know what James looks like. She supposes she would simply know when she saw him. Looking at the man in front of her, she cannot tell if the familiarity she feels is true or just her wishing that it was.

He doesn't notice Maria approach. His attention is completely fixed upon the game.

"Damn!" His fist pounds the counter. Startled, Maria gasps and jolts back. He jumps in turn, pressing a hand against his chest and nearly falling off of his stool. His other hand scrabbles for his revolver, but he lets out a long breath and presses both hands against the counter when he realizes Maria isn't a threat.

"Jesus, lady! You scared the shit out of me." He laughs breathily. "Thought you might be, well, you know."

"One of those monsters," Maria says with a nod.

"Yeah, yeah. I thought this spot might be safe once I cleared it out. Left that one by the door as, like, a warning, you know?" His gaze slides off her face, down her chest and to her midriff, before dropping to the floor with guilt. He clears his throat and holds out a hand. "Anyway. Name's Eddie."

"Maria." She presses her fingertips against his and shakes once, then draws away. "Sorry to bother you. From out there, you looked like someone else."

He laughs. "I'm the sorry one, then. I'm sure you're disappointed." As he speaks, he gestures vaguely towards himself. _Pity me. Don't you dare pity me_. Maria doesn't want to take the bait and she shrugs.

"But yeah. There's a lot going on in this town, huh? I've found some great stuff in here, though. Should help me hold my own for a while. There's some soda, a good baseball bat, bullets…hey, wait! Do you…do you want the bullets?" His voice is both pleading and petulant as she turns to leave.

"I don't have a gun," she replies flatly.

"Like I said, I've found other things!" Eddie reaches out, his hand grasping at her sweater. "We can share. You could stick around…"

She turns, twisting the fabric from his hold and staring him down. Eddie flinches back, childishly, defensively, his eyes glinting as he finds that he can't match her gaze. His hand uselessly flexes. Her look softens as his shoulders tense.

"Or not," he finally whines. "A pretty girl like you has to go catch up with some hot date, right? No time to waste with someone like me." That's said as a challenge, and he glances furtively up at her. _Go ahead_ , she knows he is thinking. _Say I'm pathetic so I have a reason to hate you._

"I _do_ have to be somewhere," she answers. "It _is_ a hot date."

It's a neutral enough statement. Eddie grins with teeth bared. "Ha! Must be a real lucky guy."

* * *

She feels a twinge in her heart as she spots the young girl walking along the top of a wall. Laura strides carefully, her arms outstretched for balance as she sets one foot in front of the other.

Not wanting to scare her by shouting, Maria quickens her pace and tries to catch up. As she approaches, she waves and smiles widely. "Laura!"

The girl pauses, balancing on one foot, and looks back over her shoulder. She answers with a quirked eyebrow. "Yeah?"

Maria clasps her hands together. "Don't you remember me? We spent so much time together in that hospital."

"Mary…?" Laura squints at her as she finally puts down her other foot and turns to face her. "You're not Mary."

Maria tilts her head. "Why not?"

Laura flicks her ponytail over her shoulder and pouts. "You aren't anything like her."

"Well." Maria leans back against the wall and crosses her arms. She peers up at Laura as she runs a hand through her hair. "What do you want Mary to be?"

Laura's eyes narrow in suspicious incomprehension. Her mouth is set in a firm line as she turns and continues to walk along the top of the wall.

Maria's stomach sinks. "Laura, what do I look like to you?"

Laura tips her head back and looks Maria over, her eyes flitting from head to toe. She frowns and furrows her eyebrows. Finally, she settles on her judgement and continues walking away. "Not much."

* * *

She finds James. The confusion on his face makes her chest ache. All she wants is to embrace him, to ask if he still loves her, if he's happy to see her, if Maria is what he wanted.

But she doesn't. She puts her hands on her hips and smirks as she buries her fear.

"I don't look like a ghost, do I? See? Feel how warm I am?"

His skin brushes against hers and she wants to scream at him. _Don't you feel what's happening?_

When they come across the bowling alley, she crosses her arms and leans against the wall. She can see Laura and Eddie through the hazy window. "I'll wait here," she says weakly. "I hate bowling."

Maria curls up on the hospital bed, ignoring the dust that scatters each time she moves the blanket. She can still taste the acrid burning left behind by the pills she dry swallowed.

"James, I wanna ask you something. What if…what if you can't find Mary? What will you do?"

She watches him through half-closed eyes. He shifts uncomfortably, placing his weight on one foot, then the other. He shrugs. "I haven't thought about that."

 _Of course_. She closes her eyes. _Of course, of course, of course._

"All you care about is that dead wife of yours!"

Maria doesn't know where her rage is coming from. It feels as if it burst fully-formed from the void like a rabbit leaping from a magician's hat. She's spewing bile, not giving James any time to respond. His mouth opens, closes, offering only the weakest rebuttals as she yells at him.

"Then stay with me! Don't ever leave me alone! You're supposed to take care of me!"

At last, her energy wanes; she embraces him and buries her face in his shoulder. He carefully returns the gesture and pats her back once, twice.

Quieting her frustration, she pulls away. "So what about Laura? Did you find her?"

* * *

Pain explodes within her chest. In the dim light, Maria can see James' expression of shock as her blood splatters on his face.

The elevator doors close.

The spear slides out of her ribs and she collapses to the floor. The corridor seems strangely bright, now. The star has left; the crew scurries off to prepare the next set piece. The blood spurting from her chest is fake, a squib.

The Red Pyramid hauls the spear out of the way, then leans down and offers her a hand.

Maria remembers. She's read the script. This is the trick; she's the woman sawed in half. The boxes are pulled apart as she is bisected; the legs thrash independently of the smiling upper half. James doesn't get to see the reveal. The secret of this magic is known only to herself.

She's ushered away, exiting stage left. Passing by a grimy mirror, she spots her understudy being guided in by another Red Pyramid. Her costume is spotless. Maria notices with some distaste that her own chest is still leaking an inky crimson. At least it isn't too noticeable on her red sweater. It only really stands out against her pale skin.

As she is led away, a curtain falls. She spots the faceless figure from the manhole pulling the ropes. Its head twitches towards her as if in recognition.

A tumor-faced nurse dabs at her stomach, clearing away the blood from her butterfly tattoo. A lying figure flops against the wall beside her. Insects crawl in and out of its chest cavity as it splutters bile. A duo of four-legged mannequins amble by, their plasticine feet clacking against the metal floor. One stumbles on the grate and knocks the other over. Their legs flail wildly and Maria imagines what kind of ruckus they would make if given tap dancing shoes.

As she laughs at their absurdity, blood bubbles up her throat and dribbles down her chin.

* * *

She hates the slack-jawed, glazed-eyes looks James gives her when they meet again. She hates the mixture of attraction and repulsion boiling beneath his skin. It's obvious that he's got Mary on his mind. Then again, would she exist if he were to stop thinking of her for even a millisecond? Maria feels that she would simply dissolve, disappearing in a puff of fog if that were to happen.

"You were always so forgetful…remember that time in the hotel?" _You left your tape in the room. You left a corpse in the back seat._

He recoils, drawing away from the cell. "How do you know about that? Aren't you Maria?"

Her face freezes just before a snarl. "I'm not your Mary."

James blinks. "So you're Maria."

"I am," she says, regaining her composure, a smile flitting across her lips, "if you want me to be."

That doesn't have the effect she desired. His eyebrows furrow as he stands and glares at her. "All I want from you is an answer!"

 _Why do you really think I'm here, James?_ She wishes to reach through the bars and shake him by the shoulders, but her hand merely cups his jaw. _How could you forget the template I'm traced from?_

"It doesn't matter who I am…I'm here for you, James." His skin is cool, clammy, and almost sickly. Maria supposes that she must feel the same way. "See? I'm real. Don't you want to touch me?"

This time, he doesn't move away. "I don't know."

"Come and get me." Maria smirks and removes her hand. "I can't do anything through these bars."

James leaves her alone in her cell as he dashes off to find another entrance.

Maria finds a comfortable position on the cot and raises the gun to her head. No need to worry, after all. She's just a prop.

* * *

She comes across Laura once more when she is traveling to the hotel. She's sitting along the same wall, her legs dangling over the side. With a wide smile, Maria clambers up and sits beside her.

"Hey, Laura!" she exclaims cheerfully. "I'm so glad to see you're safe."

Laura looks at her sidelong, chewing furiously at a wad of gum. She blows a large bubble and pops it before responding.

"I turned eight last week," she says flatly.

"Oh! Well, happy belated birthday!"

"Thanks." She does not sound thankful. "Mary said we'd get ice cream for my birthday. Real ice cream. Not the crappy stuff the hospital would give out. She said there was a place here that made sundaes with fudge _and_ caramel _and_ peanuts _and_ you could get three different flavors of ice cream in it."

A memory stirs in the back of Maria's head. "I think I know the place. It's over by Rosewater—"

"Mary owes me that trip," Laura interrupts. She kicks her heels against the bricks. "And I'm having her pay interest, so she has to get me _two_ sundaes."

Maria is at a loss for words. She simply smiles blankly at her.

Laura pulls the gum out of her mouth, sticks it on the wall, and scowls at Maria. "Why do you keep bothering me? I don't know you."

"I'm worried about you," she answers truthfully. "I don't want you getting hurt in this town."

"Jeez, what is it with all of you?" Laura huffs and pushes off from the wall, landing on the street in a crouch. "It's not like I'm playing in traffic. That wouldn't even matter much. Nobody drives around here."

As Laura starts walking away, Maria hurriedly lowers herself from the wall and chases after her. "Wait! Where are you going?"

"To the hotel. That's where Mary is supposed to be, right?"

"…Right." Maria purses her lips. "Will you walk with me? I'm going there, too. I know a shortcut."

* * *

"Mama?"

Angela's head snaps towards her as Maria walks past. She's sitting at the top of a stairwell engulfed in flame. Her face is bright and hopeful, but it sinks once she sees Maria clearly. She hums atonally and rests her head against the wall.

 _Well_ , Maria thinks, _that's one thing I_ haven't _been expected to be_.

"I think I've stayed here long enough," Angela says. Maria isn't sure if Angela is speaking to her or not.

She decides to jump into the conversation. "So you'll be running away one last time?"

Angela hums again.

Maria sits beside her. The fire is heatless. "Where do you plan on going?"

"I suppose there's only one place left, right?" She smiles. "You've been there, haven't you?"

Maria stares at her blankly.

"Or maybe not," Angela says slowly. "You only wish that you have. Then you _would_ be just like her."

Maria tenses, her nails digging into her palms. "No, I don't. I don't want to be alone. I want to have a good life, I want to get back to dancing, I want to be with James—"

Angela giggles. "That's so _stupid_. You think he'd want you?"

"He wants Mary," she snaps back. "He wants everything Mary couldn't do. That's what I'm _for_ , that's what I _do—_ "

"You think he'll sweep you off your feet or something? Is he gonna bring you flowers?"

"I don't want any damn flowers," she spits, feeling a flash of rage. "I just want…I just…"

"Listen." Angela presses her forehead against the wall. The flames lap against the sides of her face. "I don't care. Don't you have some place to be?"

Maria stands, stretches out the stiffness that settled into her legs, and brushes off her skirt. She stares at Angela for a few moments before shaking her head. "Well, I hope you find your mom."

"I'm better off alone." Angela's voice is hollow sounding, far away. "We're all better off alone."

* * *

Maria screams for James. A spear pierces her through.

If this is a trick, why does it hurt so much?

The woman is bisected once more—Mary's head, Maria's legs.

She supposes James can't have his cake and eat it, too.

* * *

They meet one last time upon the rooftop.

"Maria…? It's you…but I don't need you anymore."

That hurts as bad as the spears.

"You must be joking. But I can be yours. I'll be here for you, forever. And I'll never yell at you, or make you feel bad. That's what you wanted. I'm _different_ than Mary. How can you throw me away?"

She steps towards him; he steps back. She feels the metal slicing through her gut. Reality shifts as blood rushes to her head. She vomits up the black butterflies in her stomach.

She tries to embrace him, strangle him. The abject horror on his face as he struggles against her does about as much damage as the rounds from his revolver. As the blood pools in the cavities between her shoulders, she realizes he's trapped in a coffin just as much as she is.

She falls to the ground with a clatter, immobile and in agony. She coughs.

If she could lift her hands, she would reach out to him. He doesn't look scared anymore, just determined.

"James." Her tears sting against the abrasions on her face. "James."

He kills her. The curtain falls.


End file.
